


Claim

by cynthia_arrow (thesilverarrow)



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverarrow/pseuds/cynthia_arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard grins again and plucks his fingers at the sleeve of Frank's shirt. Which is, okay, Mikey's shirt. But what of it, you know?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claim

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted to livejournal many, many moons ago. I'm simply archiving it here.

What the fuck? Frank thinks.   
  
And then Mikey actually vocalizes it, his voice a cranky croak over the table at the crowded diner: "The fuck, Gee?"  
  
Gerard grins again and plucks his fingers at the sleeve of Frank's shirt. Which is, okay,  _Mikey's_  shirt. But what of it, you know?  
  
They used to do this all the time, when they were just friends, and nobody said a damn thing about it. He wears Gerard's shirts all the time. Hell, he's been a lot closer to Gerard than just sharing his goddamn shirts, but apparently somehow—somehow, in fucking stupid tour bus logic—this is worse. Just because Mikey's fucking him now?  
  
Of course just because Mikey's fucking him now.  
  
The shirt is bright green, screen printed in black with the name of some band Frank only vaguely recognizes, and it fits snug on his shoulders, which he likes. He also likes that he smells like Mikey now, like what they were doing last night when he peeled it off of him. But it's not like it's a scent  _that_ fucking strong. He's not some predatory animal, desperate to keep Mikey's fucking pheromones in his nostrils all day. Hell, the choice wasn't a sex thing. He needed a shirt. He put on the nearest one and stumbled out of the bus, worrying less about clothes and hair and smudges of old eyeliner and more about whether Mikey had the sense to order him coffee. He did, of course, because Mikeyway is pretty much awesome.   
  
Gerard's waggling his eyebrows now, and even Bob's getting in on the act.   
  
Ray raises his eyebrows at the whole scene, but it's somehow different. He just looks at Frank and says, "Pass the syrup."  
  
Frank passes it as he watches Mikey lift a forkful of pancakes and try to ignore his brother's ridiculous grin. As Gerard lifts his coffee cup, he sips from it slowly, watching over it as Frank does the same. When they both put their cups back down again, Gerard keeps his cradled his in his hands as he kicks him softly under the table and looks at him again, smiling, like they're communicating in some secret code. But Frank doesn't like this familiarity everybody has—or thinks they have—with him and Mikey's relationship, Gerard more than anybody else. It's not like it's a secret, but they don't have to act all confidential about it, like they know what means something and what's just the nearest fucking shirt.   
  
"I don't know why you care so much about your brother's sex life," Frank mumbles.  
  
Gerard rolls his eyes. Mikey glares at him.  
  
"I mean, honestly," Frank continues. "Maybe we should've just skipped breakfast and stayed on the bus to fuck so you clowns could sit around and have a fucking conference about it or something."  
  
This time, the kick under the table comes from Mikey, he's pretty sure, especially when Mikey shoots him another glare. Not a very effective one, though. It just makes him look really, really hot, his soft mouth all pursed up, his pretty pretty eyes narrowing and dark.   
  
Ray sighs and says, "Damn it, Frank. I don't want to know. I'm pretty sure Bob doesn't want to know. And Gerard is biologically hard-wired not to want to know. So can we please shut up about the two of you staking claim on each other."  
  
"Claim?" Mikey says with what sounds a lot like a gasp of surprise. But he turns that surprise to bitchiness faster than even Frank thought possible. "I didn't ask him to put on my shirt."  
  
Frank doesn't like the confused, irritated things clouding Mikey's face. So he crosses his arms over his stomach and takes hold of the bottom hem. "Fuck every one of you. I'll take it the fuck off right now if it'll—"  
  
Bob just smacks him upside the head and he drops his hands. When he looks at Mikey, he seems less queasy but more annoyed. And more confused, somehow, too.   
  
Everybody gets quiet as Frank settles back into the booth. Ray and Mikey pick at their pancakes, Bob digs into his bacon and hash browns, and Frank tries to enjoy his coffee, even though Gerard can't stop giving him weird faces, now an equal mix of his usual  _you are totally doing it with my brother_  and today's version of  _wow, you're a freak and kind of an idiot, aren't you?_.  
  
Once Frank drains his cup, he throws two bucks on the table and tries not to stomp out of the diner, which isn't insanely difficult since the coffee didn't seem to wake him up much. A shower might be nice. A shower and clean shirt that doesn't look like fucking his bandmate and doesn't smell like fucking his best friend in the whole world who's probably kind of pissed at him.   
  
He's sitting on the curb smoking when Mikey wanders out into the early morning sunshine alone, his eyes on Frank the entire time he walks across the parking lot. Frank doesn't stand up when he reaches him, just stares up at him, squinting instead of shielding his eyes against the sun.  
  
Mikey asks, "Did you do that on purpose?"  
  
If the question had been all snappish, Frank would've snapped back, but Mikey seems oddly—and calmly, seriously—curious.   
  
So Frank replies, "No, man. Didn't think they'd be so…"  
  
Mikey snorts. "Have you met them? Fuck, have you met  _you_?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Mikey sits down beside him then, waving his hand as if to make the question go away. Then he says, "Anyway, it's probably just... It's maybe weird for them because, like, I'm  _really_  yours now, you know? It's not a...stupid joke anymore."  
  
Mikey turns away and Frank can't read his expression. He doesn't need to to know he doesn't like the implications of that.   
  
Frank says, "Who the fuck said I was trying to prove to our fucking band that you… Shit, Mikeyway, it's not like either of us belong to—"  
  
His mouth is stopped by the sugary taste of syrup. He groans pretty freakin' loudly into the kiss and it makes Mikey kiss him harder—to make him hotter and probably also to keep him from even contemplating continuing some dumbshit argument over nothing. Really, Frank has no complaints about that. It's too fucking early for a fight.  
  
When they stop kissing, Frank rests his head against Mikey's shoulder.   
  
"I don't think about you as...belonging to me," Frank says.  
  
"But I  _do_."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I mean, right?"  
  
Mikey's eyes are trained ahead of him, on the parking lot. Frank like to say something reassuring, but he doesn't know what that would be that wouldn't sound stupid or fake, even if it wasn't either one. So he just puts his head back down, nuzzling into Mikey's shoulder.   
  
They're quiet for a minute, and he's about to say something, anything, when instead he just turns his head and nips at Mikey's neck. Mikey jumps a little and gasps, but it's not a bad sound, not at all.  
  
With just a little more roll of his neck, Frank has his lips firmly attached to the side of Mikey's neck, just below his hairline, in that spot that normally makes Mikey damn near incoherent if he gives it too much attention. Frank sucks hard, feeling Mikey's whole body jerk and shiver as he clutches at his bicep. One of Frank's hands finds the other side of Mikey's neck, and he holds tight as he sucks and licks and sucks and sucks. And bites.  
  
"Frank," Mikey says, breathless. "Jesus."  
  
Licking over the spot one last time, at which Mikey exhales loud, almost like a hiss, Frank can't resist biting at his earlobe before he relents, leaving his head leaned up on his shoulder.  
  
Frank mumbles, "Now, if you feel like you gotta do that to me, I don't mind. Not saying I need it or anything, but I don't mind."  
  
"Okay," Mikey says. But he doesn't say anything else, so Frank just listens to him breathe and feels the sun beat down on his back. It's too early in the day to tell, really, but he thinks this will be a good day.  
  
Frank says, "You taste good, you know."  
  
"My...neck?"  
  
"Your mouth. Pancakes."  
  
"Oh. Syrup, you mean."  
  
"Yeah."   
  
Frank lights another cigarette, finally peeling himself off Mikey. He's half hard and Mikey's probably all the way hard and that was probably not the smartest thing he ever did in broad daylight with the rest of the band ready to spill out of the diner, but he can't be too sorry. The spot on Mikey's neck is already a little purple. It's going to look like hell tomorrow. But there'll be no mistaking it.  
  
Mikey says, "I don't think Ray was going to finish his."  
  
Frank frowns. "His what, now?"  
  
"His pancakes. Are you still asleep or something?"  
  
"No." Not now, anyway.  
  
"Go catch him. I bet you can get the waitress to pack them up for you."  
  
"Sure thing, Mikeyway."  
  
He's about to struggle up off the curb when Mikey suddenly grabs him and pulls him into a kiss. It's one of those hard, insistent ones like he gives when he's trying to prove something. But Frank has a way of stopping that shit cold. He forces Mikey to open up until everything's soft and probably too wet, but it's fucking hot, the way he can feel Mikey giving himself over to it.   
  
When Mikey finally breaks the kiss, he leaves his forehead against Frank's, like he wants so much more but is not letting himself take it, not now. Mikey's better at this shit when it's late and it's dark and he forgets to be all weird about it. Frank's better at this shit when Mikey's better at it.   
  
So he doesn't expect any major declarations or anything, yet he gets one:  
  
"You're mine, you know?" Mikey says.  
  
Frank feels something wild and heavy kicking at his gut. "Yeah?"  
  
"I think I like it when you wear my clothes," he says with a kiss. "It's hot." Then he kisses him again, like it really is the hottest thing he can imagine.   
  
When Mikey lets him go, Frank's a little dazed, but he tries to make his brain focus. "So, uh...pancakes?"  
  
"I'm telling you, Ray's gonna leave like half his plate."  
  
Frank climbs to his feet, and he can feel those eyes of Mikey's watching him as he walks away, back toward the diner.   
  
Frank turns when he's about halfway there and calls out, "Wouldn't wanna be anybody else's, you know."  
  
He turns and keeps walking before he can see if Mikey smiles or not. Not that he has to see to know.


End file.
